


That Time Stiles Got Drunk

by Sybilina



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pack Feels, Stilinski feels, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sybilina/pseuds/Sybilina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't ask for a lot. He sure gives a lot but he doesn't ask for a lot. Just one day. That's all he wants. But no one seems to remember or care. Including his father. And that hurts the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time Stiles Got Drunk

"Hey, did you hear about that girl?"

Stiles stopped doodling. He'd stopped even letting his yellow highlighter make an appearance in Mr. Harris's class, which inevitably resulted in an overabundance of doodles. Oddly enough, Mr. Harris never commented on those, though he definitely saw them. Stiles had found himself accidentally doodling on a test one time when he'd finished long before everyone else.

"There are lots of girls, Scott. We do go to a public school, you know. Every other person in this room is a girl. You need to be a little more specific with your questions."

Scott shoved the pen into his arm hard enough that Stiles wouldn't be surprised to find an ink mark on his skin later, even though he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. "My mom said a girl was found in the woods, all clawed up. Says she was attacked by an animal."

"Let me guess, a mountain lion."

"No, she said it was definitely not a mountain lion. She said it was more like a dog. A large, rabid dog."

Stiles laughed softly. "So Derek is making pets again, huh?" He knew how Scott felt about calling them pets. The more Scott hung around Derek, the more he thought like a wolf. Stiles still wasn't sure if that was a good thing but sometimes he felt like his friend was drifting away, and that was definitely not a good thing. So yeah, sometimes he took an easy jab or two.

He expected a long, in depth argument about how betas weren't pets, they were just members of a pack, or possibly even a verbal scolding over how upset Derek still was over Boyd and Erica leaving. Scott let it slide without a word, though. "I don't know. I'm going after school to talk to him."

Stiles nodded. "Tell him I said hi."

"Dude, you're coming with me."

"Dude, really not."

Scott jabbed him again with the pen and this time, Stiles felt his jaw lock and his teeth grind. "I need you there with me. You're like the voice of reason."

"Well, be your own voice of reason this time."

"I meant for both Derek and me, and usually the whole pack, too, but... Stiles, we need you. I need you."

And that was usually the straw that broke Stiles's back. He couldn't resist someone telling him they needed him. Lydia had said it without even using words, while she was laid up in the hospital. His dad said it by being alone in the dining room with barely enough light to see the papers, drowning in puzzles and murdered bodies. And Scott? Scott said it all the time, in words, in gestures, in puppy dog eyes.

Thing was, Derek never said he needed him, in fact often told him that he was in the way even though he'd saved his sorry ass on several occasions. Jackson never said he needed him and Stiles was pretty sure the only reason he tolerated him was because Stiles had hauled off and punched him that one time in the school. Allison never said she needed him, but then, he could forgive her. He could understand feeling powerless and weak.

But today was Stiles's day. Stiles had plans. He had things to do. Stiles was not just a ragdoll to be thrown around and used when it was convenient. He did have a life, if only they could recognize that it consisted of more than just hunters and wolves. At the very least, Scott should understand this.

"Scott, grow up." He certainly didn't mean it to sound like that but once it was out, it initiated a whole line of other words he didn't mean to say, words he couldn't possibly call back into his mouth and unsay. "What are you, twelve? Grow a backbone. Grow some balls. Hell, grow your claws if you think it'll help. You need to be your own voice of reason and you need to learn how to stand up to Derek if it's the right thing to do. Stop using me as your scapegoat, your dummy to hide behind. I'm sick of it."

When the bell rang, neither of them had said another word to each other and their lab was completely blank.

 

After school, he tried to steer clear of Derek's Camaro as soon as he saw it but, considering it was parked right in front of the doors, he failed miserable. Almost immediately, he was forcefully grabbed and shoved against the car.

"You know, cars don't respond well to being treated like this. I mean, just look at my jeep. It's in the shop almost every other week from the abuse you wolves put it through. Treat her with more respect and you'll get more out of her, I swear."

"Shut up, Stiles."

"Sometimes I wonder if that's your line. Like, instead of saying, 'hey, what's up?' you say, 'shut up, person.' Well, not literally person because you usually know their name, but still, it's the same idea. Can't you just start with hello once in a while?"

The grip tightened on his shirt. "Hello, Stiles." Derek's smile reached epic creepiness level, as the fangs started to drop, just a little, and his eyes bore into his.

"Don't. Don't ever, ever do that again, please. Man, I always thought it was weird practicing facial expressions in front of the mirror but man, you gotta do it. You can't go around smiling at people like that. Kids will cry, women will scream."

"You never do shut up, do you?"

"Not as long as I have vocal chords."

"I could fix that." His fangs grew a little longer and Stiles looked around to see if anyone was watching which, duh, of course they were. An older man was shoving Stiles into a car and leaning in far too closely. Still, if they thought it was romantic or bordering on pedophilia, then, that was... well, not good because yes of course Stiles was still in love with Lydia, though he acknowledged the hotness that was Derek, but it was better to have people shy away in PDA embarrassment than running scared and screaming about a possible murderous psychopath. Still, Derek should work on his social skills at the very least.

"Dude, seriously. Did you need something or do you get some sick pleasure out of slamming me against walls and cars?"

"Scott said you're not coming tonight. I'd like you to be there."

"What? Seriously? You're always telling me to shut up and here you are telling me you want me to join in some secret pack meeting and, what, sit there quietly with my hands under my ass? Because that's not me, you know I'll be talking, chiming in, adding my two cents."

Derek had enough grace to look sheepish, if only for a moment. "You keep Scott in line."

Stiles was proud of himself for having the nerve to laugh in Derek's face. "I try to convince him to stand up to you! I wasn't supportive of his joining your stupid little pack to begin with and I would be all too willing and happy to see him leave!"

"But you make sense." Derek grimaced. "You're logical, Stiles, and you do your research. Even if I told him something that was true or real, he wouldn't believe it until it came from you. Which makes my life easier if you're there."

"Oh, so I'm the go-between, your marriage counselor? Well screw that, I have other things, more important things, to do with my time."

Most days, he would love to be included in the pack meetings. He would love to see Isaac and Scott get on each other's nerves. Scott had been the first to get bitten, therefore the elder brother so to speak, and they always vied for Derek's attentions. As much as he hated seeing Scott vie, he couldn't help but be amused at the shit they sometimes got into just for Derek to give them praise. It really did seem like a pack forming, a family. All the more reason for Stiles to stay out of it.

"Reschedule," Derek said.

"Reschedule? Right, because you're just that important. I can't reschedule, Derek, it's not a rescheduleable thing."

"Lydia is going to be there."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course he still loved Lydia but this was a pretty desperate attempt to get him to the meeting. He saw her every day at school, usually not accompanied by Jackson, since their schedules didn't match up this year, and therefore much more approachable, so seeing her at a pack meeting? "Whoop de doo."

"If you had a date that couldn't be rescheduled, it would be with Lydia." Derek's eyes narrowed and this, above all else, is what made Stiles squirm. "What else could be so important that you can't reschedule?"

"None of your goddamn business." Stiles put as much venom and anger into those five words that Derek actually blinked and stepped back. Stiles took this opportunity to shove Derek back even further so he could walk past him. "Email me the cliff notes."

 

It was tradition. Every year since he learned how, he made a dish of zucchini lasagna with cheese and garlic bread on this particular day and he and his father would eat, usually in silence, ending with a trip to the cemetery if Stiles didn't somehow sneak in too much whiskey into his father's drink, which he usually suspected anyway but didn't comment on. It all depended on how much Stiles wanted to hear that year. Usually, the more alcohol, the more his father talked about her. The less alcohol, the more silence. Sometimes Stiles wanted silence. His father was pretty much the only person who truly understood his own silences, which was partially why he hated being silent around him. But today was usually an acceptable day to be silent, if he so wished it.

This year, he'd resolved himself to no alcohol at all. They were going to sit, have a good conversation about absolutely nothing at all, go to the cemetery, and then go to bed and probably cry themselves to sleep. But when it got on around 7:30 and Stiles was still sitting at the table, he decided to text his father. It wasn't normal for him to stay out this late without contacting him. They'd had an argument just the other day, so maybe his father was still angry at him.

Still.

_Hey, just wondering when you were gonna be home. Everything ok?_

He sat at the table for a few moments, staring off into the distance, not even his leg bouncing, until he felt the vibration of his phone going off. He must have forgotten to turn on the ringer after school. No wonder, what with Derek shoving him into cars and having this dinner to prepare. _Sorry, got held up at the office. Ordering pizza, make yourself something, I'll be home late._

It was weird being hit by that when he already felt so much and so little. This day, this one day out of all the days of the year, was the one day he turned off his emotions, all except anger, which he always seemed to have plenty of on this day. He'd gotten angry at not just Scott, but Derek too, and enough for them to actually back off. Which, in retrospect, actually made him feel kind of bad. If he thought about it, they were complimenting him by saying they wanted him there.

But hearing that his father had most likely forgotten (he was ignoring the other possibility which was that Stiles had pissed his father off so royally the other day that he was making him spend the day alone) was kind of phenomenally hurtful. It threatened to break the walls, the invisible fortress against hurt that he let build up all year round and only let break and crumble once a year, on this particular day, around midnight, and it was unacceptable that it was already showing spider cracks so early in the evening. So he grabbed the whiskey, tossed it into his jeep, and took off.

Once he realized he was driving straight to Derek's, he altered his course. Of course the one place he'd drive to subconsciously was the one place he knew people would be, people he cared about, people who might be willing to lend a shoulder to cry on. But he wasn't entirely sure he wanted a shoulder and, more than that, he wasn't sure there would even be a shoulder to cry on after the way he treated both Scott and Derek earlier in the day. Not that they knew. Scott might have been his friend for a long time but Stiles was surprised when he remembered his own birthday, let alone the birthday of Stiles's dead mother whom Scott never even had the chance to meet. And Derek hadn't known them long enough to even realize that this day, above all others of the year, meant something to Stiles, something he kept secret and hidden and avoided talking about, but something that meant all other suggestions or plans to hang out were immediately dismissed without even a second thought.

No, driving to Derek's was a bad idea, especially if he got shitfaced the way he planned on getting. But it was also fairly close to the full moon, only a day or two away (weird how Stiles wasn't even entirely sure what day it was on, considering he was usually so good about reminding Scott) and he was sure if he got too close to the house, someone, probably Derek if not all of them, would smell him. So he parked somewhere near the outskirts of the forest, built himself a cozy little fire, built himself a wood pile for future use, pulled out a spare blanket from the backseat of his jeep, and started in on the whiskey.

He hadn't even brought a shot glass and hadn't taken stock of how much was already in the bottle, so he had no way of knowing how much he'd had to drink. But soon, the fire started to look quite a bit more flashy and blurry than he suspected it truly was. Then he took another swig.

It wasn't often that Stiles got drunk. The first time Stiles had gotten drunk was at Scott's house when his mother was pulling a late shift. They'd broken into her vodka, mainly because it was clear and therefore could be refilled with water to make it look like it hadn't been touched. Of course, being fourteen and stupid, they'd taken a shot, nearly gagged, and only waited a couple of minutes before taking another shot. Then a couple more minutes before they took another. They didn't realize at that time that shots take more than just a couple of minutes to kick in, so by the time they began to feel anything, they were well on their way to being shitfaced. They'd later forgotten to fill up the vodka with water, somehow put it back in the freezer, and spent the rest of the night being loud and obnoxious but were already passed out by the time Ms. McCall had arrived home. And the next morning, they both swore they were dying.

It had been a long time before they drank again and it was rare. There had been one time Scott had heard about his father possibly returning to Beacon Hills, which never actually panned out, but Scott had freaked out enough that one day that it had warranted a trip to the woods for some serious Jack Daniels time. Or the time Scott and Allison broke up, which was fairly recent and Scott, with his seriously uncool tolerance of alcohol having sky rocketed, hadn't even gotten drunk.

So yeah, Stiles didn't get drunk very often. But when he did, he took it seriously. He didn't stop at one or two shots, unless interrupted by assholes who ended up frightened off by a nearly fully turned were-Scott (which, looking back, how stupid could he be to have gotten drunk in the middle of nowhere with a newly turned werewolf? How many horrible endings could that have led to?). Usually he kept it going until everything was black, or at least in a very dark misty haze.

And yeah, that was stupid. He knew it was stupid. He knew if he kept up this pace, he'd be puking before he even went to bed. But a very large part of him was okay with that. He was pissed off and he had too big of a heart to take it out on anyone else, certainly not to the extent he wanted to. Seriously, he wanted to punch Scott for not remembering what today was. He wanted to yell at Scott for spending all his time with Allison, for getting all buddy buddy with the werewolves and practically leaving Stiles in the dust. He wanted to kick Scott in the balls, still, for his make-out session with Lydia. If Allison ever tried that kind of thing with Stiles, Stiles was sure he wouldn't go for it, would politely and awkwardly shove her off.

He wanted to slap Lydia for being with Jackson, who obviously didn't deserve her. He wanted to punch Jackson, again, for hurting Lydia the way he had and for not treating her with the kind of respect and love she deserved.

He wanted to break Allison's arrows and bows for ever attacking the werewolves. He wanted to yell at her for breaking his best friend's heart. He wanted to blame her for everything Kate did because Kate wasn't alive anymore and Allison had looked up to her so much when she was alive that sometimes Stiles worried that she was going to become just like her. And he hated that the entire Argent family had caused so much pain for not just Scott and Stiles, but to Derek as well, dating back years and years.

And he wanted to scream at Derek for being the closed off jackass that he was, for assuming that everyone needed him to protect them and not realizing or accepting that he needed help sometimes, too. That other people were willing to help him just because it was him in danger and not because he was Alpha or big bad protector or even just Bigger-than, Stronger-than-a-Puny-Human Werewolf. He wanted to knee Derek in the balls, too, every time he slammed him against a wall or a car or slammed his face into a steering wheel (though, to be honest, the last one would make for much difficulty in the knee-to-crotch department) because he wasn't a ragdoll and he certainly wasn't a practically invincible werewolf – when he got injured, he stayed injured for days. And not once had Derek accepted that Stiles was part of the pack, and yes Stiles knew that he wasn't a werewolf so being accepted into the pack was probably impossible because of some stupid werewolf rules. But if Derek was going to expect him to go to the meetings and drop everything just for him without at least acknowledgment that he was important beyond being a friggin' marriage counselor, then what the hell. He deserved more than that. He'd earned more than that.

Once he got to thinking about his dad, he suddenly felt like it was too much, that he was just too angry for it all and he was sick of holding it in, sick of keeping such a tight leash on it, sick of being the good guy all the time. Looking around, remembering that he was alone in the woods, he decided now was a great time to let it all go. So he screamed. He took a deep, long breath, and then just let it all out until he felt like he was blue in the face. Panting, he decided two screams would be better than one, so he let out another one, which seemed to be the icing on the cake, because that was when he felt like something broke inside him. Something that needed breaking. He sat down, curled in on himself, let his body fall to the side so he was laying down, wrapped the blanket around him like a shield, and resumed staring at the fire.

He briefly thought it would be a bad idea to stay there. He had no idea how cold it got at night but finding out when you're alone and drunk is probably the worst possible way. Unfortunately, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"What the hell are you doing here, Stiles?"

Right after the harsh whisper was out, he felt hands on his shoulders, hauling him up and to his feet. He struggled for a moment, mostly due to his balance not cooperating and his vision swimming, and the hands tightened on his shoulders.

"Are you drunk?" Derek was staring into his eyes, looking far more pissed off than Stiles could remember him being, which kind of said a lot. Then again, his face kept stuttering back and forth and Stiles had to blink rapidly to keep from going cross-eyed.

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?" Stiles said. "Can't you tell?"

"I was hoping you'd bathed in alcohol instead of ingesting it."

"Why would I bathe in it?"

"Because it would be smarter than drinking it alone in the woods at night when there is a rabid werewolf on the loose." Derek's eyes burned red and they were the anchor Stiles needed for the world to stop spinning, if only momentarily. He batted Derek's hands away from his shoulders.

"Well. I never claimed to be smart."

"Is this your important plan that couldn't be rescheduled?"

"This is... no. This is not what I had planned. Possibly better than what I had planned, to be honest. Though tomorrow I might think it was worse. No, no, not what I had planned at all."

"This is stupid, Stiles, real stupid." Stiles swayed on his feet while Derek looked around. Stiles could swear he could feel the tension and anger just radiating off of the other man. He thought maybe he should feel guilty but instead all he could feel was anger. More anger. Then Derek fixed him with a look, puzzled but intense. "Was that you screaming just a few minutes ago?"

Stiles tried to glare at Derek the way Derek glared at Stiles when he asked a stupid question, but the effect was ruined by the way Stiles couldn't keep his eyes focused on anything. "Well, who else would it be?"

"Why? Why were you screaming like that?" For the first time ever, Stiles thought Derek had a hint of something besides anger in his voice, though Stiles couldn't for the life of him pinpoint what it was.

Stiles waved at Derek as if dismissing the question. "It doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. Nothing matters. What I was supposed to do tonight, what I didn't do, or what I did do but no one else did, who I ditched or who ditched me, memories, family, fuck it all, none of it matters." He could tell he was slurring but he was pretty sure that, with Derek's super hearing, he'd be able to decipher what he was saying anyway.

Derek started at him with an unreadable look, so Stiles sat down, not wanting to evaluate or digest what that could mean.

"Something's happening," Derek said. Stiles looked up at him, barely visible in the dying flicker of the fire. He had his head cocked and he was looking off into the distance. "Another attack, at the edge of the woods, maybe two miles away."

"Damn, is your hearing really that good?"

Derek looked at Stiles. "The victim was an officer."

Stiles couldn't think for a moment. He just stared for a moment, dumbfounded. "Was it...?"

Derek shrugged slightly. "There seems to be a lot of confusion going on."

"Get in my car. Drive me." Stiles stood up, swaying but shoving at the air angrily as if that would make him walk better. "Now, Derek."

"You really think that's a good idea?"

"Now, Derek." Stiles sat in the passenger seat and waited. When Derek didn't move, Stiles turned to look at him. "You really want me to drive myself?"

Without another word, Derek slid into the driver's seat, where the keys were still in the ignition, and drove them towards the accident.

  

The minute the car stopped, Stiles hopped out. His mind was still fuzzy but there was a part of him that had pushed the drunkenness to the side, forcing sobriety to the surface. He wasn't clear-headed but he wasn't swaying on his feet, either.

"Dad? Dad!" Stiles steered clear of the ambulance, hoping against all hope to see his dad before he got to the flashing lights. It was clear the person who was attacked is dead, otherwise the ambulance would be long gone. He spotted his father's cruiser, darted over to it, but found it empty. "Dad!" He screamed it out this time and from the front of the ambulance, previously hidden, his father stepped into view.

"Stiles?" His father came over to him as Stiles felt everything in him that was floating on adrenalin, floating on fear and panic, start to settle and he wondered briefly if his legs were going to give out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard... there was... someone... an officer..."

"I don't know how you heard about it so quickly, but yes. An officer got a call earlier about a complaint in this area and... are you drunk?" His father leaned in to sniff Stiles's breath. "You're wasted. What the hell, Stiles?"

Stiles started to shake then, started to feel everything in him break the way he usually let it at midnight and he wondered briefly if it was, indeed, midnight. He trembled violently and grabbed his father's jacket. "You can't do this, Dad," he said, feeling his throat closing up. "Not tonight. Not tonight!" He pulled back without letting go and them slammed his fists into his father's chest, knowing it probably didn't hurt at all but it definitely got his point across. "You can't do this, this is not how we celebrate... Damn it, Dad, I thought..." That's when the sobs started to wrench out of him and he felt his legs wobble. He pushed his face into his father's jacket, not to hide the tears that started to stream down his face but to feel his father, whole and alive.

"Celebrate? What... oh. Oh shit, Stiles." Stiles felt his father's arms wrap around him, one hand going to rest on the back of his head, and it was supposed to make him feel better but all it did was make him cry harder. "I am so, so sorry Stiles, I didn't... I completely forgot. Shit. Shit!" His knees did give out, then, and his father sank to the ground with him. Suddenly, he was thirteen again and the alcohol was doing nothing for him by way of holding his emotions back, or the memories. He didn't even care that the other officers were nearby or that a dead body was nearby, or even that Derek was probably still nearby. He just clung to his father, knowing it could just as easily have been him in the ambulance right now.

"Not tonight... not tonight," Stiles said. He said it like a mantra and his dad just rocked him back and forth until he began to calm down.

  

His father had gotten someone else to take the cruiser back to the station while he drove himself and Stiles home in the jeep. They were silent the whole drive but once home, Stiles reheated the food and they had a quiet dinner. It was awkward considering the events that led up to it but Stiles was admittedly starving, having avoided marring the dish after it was freshly cooked until his father joined him and then leaving angrily once he'd gotten the text from his father. His father probably had already eaten, considering he said he was going to order pizza, but he had a healthy sized portion. Even so, he kept darting questioning glances at Stiles: Will you forgive me? Is this okay? Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?

They skipped the cemetery run, postponing it for the next day because of the earlier attack and Stiles's drunkenness. They had one last hug before Stiles turned in for the night, a long, tight hug, where his father whispered, "I'm sorry" and Stiles whispered something along the lines of, "Don't ever do that again" and he wasn't sure if he meant going out and almost getting murdered or forgetting his mother's birthday but they were both good so he didn't elaborate. Then his father kissed him on the side of his head and told him to bring a water and some Tylenol with him for the morning.

A few days later, Stiles headed to Derek's house. Once Stiles had explained the day's significance to Scott and offered a couple of whole-hearted apologies, Scott had waved him off and told him to forget about it, acknowledging for once that maybe he was the asshole instead of Stiles. Stiles wondered if there was something about his smell or the way he looked because the rest of the pack were overly delicate and sensitive around him for a few days, even Jackson.

He knocked softly on the door. Derek probably heard him coming from a mile away so why he even had to knock on the door was a mystery to him. When the door opened, he thought maybe he had the answer.

Derek's eyes were half-closed, bare-chested, and actually had on pajama pants. "What?"

"Hello there grouchy, didn't know wolves were like vampires. Run around the woods all night, sleep all day. Should I put garlic in my window to keep you away from it?"

Derek moved to shut the door.

He shoved at the door, putting his foot in the doorway to stop it. "Okay, wait! Sorry, I just... no, just sorry." He pulled his foot back, knowing if Derek wanted to shut the door, he might very well lose the foot. "I wanted to thank you. For the other night. For driving and stuff."

Derek just stared at him.

"I mean, you didn't have to. You could have just left me. I probably would have been okay."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You're pack."

Stiles swallowed. "I'm...?"

"You're pack. You're my cub."

Stiles grimaced.

Derek grabbed him and put him in a headlock before he could even squeak, which was probably for the best. Squeaking is not the best way to prove you are not a 'cub.' "You are my cub. You're weak, you're innocent, you're stupid and reckless, and you're mine. So be thankful you're human, too, because if a real cub did something so stupid and reckless as what you did the other night, there would be hell to pay, not just from the alpha but from all the others, too."

"I am not a cub!" Stiles struggled to get out the headlock but Derek's grip was firm.

"Shut up, Stiles. Did you hear what I said? You're mine. So next time you feel the need to get drunk, you call me. Next time you need to scream like that, you call me. My heart nearly stopped when I heard that scream. Not a fun thing for an Alpha to hear when there's a rabid werewolf on the loose. Next time you're hurting like that, you call me." Derek released him so he could grab him by the arms and shake him. "You understand me?"

Stiles blinked. "I didn't... I didn't think anyone would..."

"Well you thought wrong."

Stiles stared at him for a moment. "Is this hug time?"

Derek glared at him, then sighed. "Do you need a hug?"

Stiles fought a smile. "It wouldn't hurt."

Derek pulled him in and wrapped his arms around Stiles and the almost smile disappeared. This felt good. "Thank you," Stiles said.

"Any time, Stiles."


End file.
